<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Missing Half by violent_ends</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291777">Missing Half</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends'>violent_ends</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lucifer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angel Family, Angel Wings, Angst and Feels, Backstory, Brotherly Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Michael-centric, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Pre-Canon, Trailer Spoilers, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>TO READ ONLY IF YOU WATCHED THE S5 TRAILER. CONTAINS SPOILERS.</i>
</p>
<p>They come into the world as two growing specks–no, as <i>one</i>, as a single entity dancing and writhing and shifting before splitting into two: four eyes, four arms, four legs, four luminescent feathery wings. An experiment, they later learn is what they are: a bet, a challenge between two lovers who want to see if such a thing can truly be done, if two completely identical beings can exist.</p>
<p>As it turns out, they can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amenadiel &amp; Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), God &amp; Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), God &amp; Michael (Lucifer TV), God/Mother of Angels | Charlotte Richards, Michael &amp; Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>244</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Missing Half</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlymostlydead/gifts">onlymostlydead</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/gifts">MoanDiary</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just to make it extra clear, please be advised that this fic is a backstory based on stuff shown in the S5 TRAILER. Do not read if you want to avoid spoilers for it.</p>
<p>Dedicated to two fellow authors who fell down the rabbit hole like me and decided Michael will also turn out to be a soft bean who deserves our love and care, here's my take on his story and intentions, with some fun lore thrown into the mix. We love our whumpy messy twin angels equally in this house ❤ enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They come into the world together, in a time when the world itself is nothing but a massive, engulfing black hole of nothingness. Or, well, not really, if you want to count the small bundle of matter slowly expanding from it: an outward wave gaining momentum every time a new angel bursts forth from the Light of Creation, from the sweet, holy embrace of two ancient, out-of-time beings that for Michael, at the end of the day, are simply Mom and Dad.</p>
<p>They come into the world as two growing specks–no, as <i>one</i>, as a single entity dancing and writhing and shifting before splitting into two: four eyes, four arms, four legs, four luminescent feathery wings. An experiment, they later learn is what they are: a bet, a challenge between two lovers who want to see if such a thing can truly be done, if two completely identical beings can exist.</p>
<p>As it turns out, they can.</p>
<p>The Heavenly Host marvels at what they are: <i>twins</i> is the word – the concept – and they are the very first of many pairs yet to come, both angelic and… of <i>other</i> natures, natures that for now do not even exist. As more and more angels are born, the universe expands and Heaven with it, but the darkness that is inherent to the <i>before</i>, to all that is out of time and space, presses from all sides, threatening to suffocate and swallow it. But no, such a thing cannot unfold: Father, <i>Dad</i>, cares too much and by extension, Michael does too.</p>
<p><i>Bend the darkness to your will, and let your will be mine, too</i>, God tells him with a voice that has no body, one you hear as if from inside your own head.</p>
<p>And so it is that Michael tames the shadows of the infinite nothing, flying round and round and round again, until his white wings turn black as the curly, unruly locks on his head from his efforts to stop, control, and eventually soak up the darkness that threatened to slither away.</p>
<p>“They suit you,” Samael tells him when Michael flies back to Heaven, but the words, although they’re clearly meant to comfort, sound wrong to his ears.</p>
<p>“But we’ll never look the same anymore,” he objects, shoulders slumped in sadness and defeat. For wasn’t that the whole point of them? Aren’t they meant, by definition, to match?</p>
<p>And yet, Samael thinks differently. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, brother. It’s good to be your own angel.”</p>
<p>Michael doesn’t understand, not at first. He understands even less, and hurts even more, when Samael is tasked with doing the exact opposite of what he did, painting the now-contained dark expanse of Creation with the light of countless stars.</p>
<p>For when he returns, Samael shines <i>brighter</i>, and this first difference between them intensifies because of it. What are they now? Opposites? Why did Samael get to keep–no, <i>enhance</i> the holy glow he was born with? Why was it Michael’s fate and duty to lose his altogether instead?</p>
<p>But it’s not Samael’s fault, and it’s not Father’s, either, because Father is never wrong. Michael loves them both, and it’s all he needs to know.</p>
<p>Slowly, time ends up proving Samael right. The more they grow (not physically, but somewhere deep where their thoughts and feelings reside), the more different they become, and it actually feels as natural as breathing, as normal as chasing each other through the clouds above and around and under the Silver City’s floating, see-through dome. Michael turns out to be quieter, calmer, fond of keeping his emotions for himself; Samael grows into a bundle of restless energy that talks and talks as if afraid he won’t get another chance in his immortal life to say what he wants to say.</p>
<p>Mom and Dad delight in discovering all the things that set them apart; it is good, it must be. Just as darkness and light, one cannot exist without the other, and there is a certainty in this connection their lone, “ordinary” siblings simply cannot share or understand. They’re special. Always have been and always will be.</p>
<p>Samael gets in trouble from time to time, hides the Firstborn’s robes from him so Amenadiel has to chase him naked over their home’s marble streets, and Michael doesn’t really get it, the pleasure and laughter that come with it – in this, too, they are clearly not the same.</p>
<p>“I felt like doing it, so I did it,” is Samael’s simple explanation when Father demands it, His voice collectively heard as it is when He wants it to be. And Father doesn’t seem to get it either, but He does say one thing clearly: “Michael, keep an eye on your brother, will you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Father.” Always yes, yes to whatever is the Word and the Will of the Lord.</p>
<p>But when they fly back to their quarters, to the room they share in one of the Silver City’s many towers, Samael is the one who doesn’t understand.</p>
<p>“I could tell you don’t really want to do it,” he says with a frown. “Why did you say yes?”</p>
<p>“Because Father asked.” Simple, really.</p>
<p>The frown deepens. “So?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, so?”</p>
<p>Samael lets out an exasperated sigh. “I've told you many times, <i>Mikey</i>.” Now, there’s a nickname Michael would do without. “You should always follow your heart’s desire.”</p>
<p>But Michael doesn’t feel it, this thing Samael speaks of lately. And sometimes, he wonders if he should, but something is missing; wonders if the darkness of the universe sucked away more than just his feathers' glow. Because this force, on the other hand, seems to drive Samael more than all their other siblings, as if after soaking up all that light, he’s become a jar overflowing. With words, with smiles, with laughter and jokes, with things he wants to do and say and see.</p>
<p>What’s done is done, anyway. Things are fine as they are. All Michael has to do is follow Father’s orders and make sure Samael doesn’t go too far in his enthusiasm.</p>
<p>Failure, when it comes, stings immensely but secretly: no one will ever know how much.</p>
<p>“Sam, don’t go,” Michael pleads from the very edge of Heaven, right before the barrier angels can cross, but meteors and rocks and debris from outer space cannot. “He’s not going to like it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, he'll be <i>fine</i>,” Samael dismisses his concern. He beams, white feathers rustling at his back with a joy Michael increasingly suspects is inherent to starlight and therefore precluded to him. “Come with me, Mikey! He made <i>people</i>, why aren’t you curious? I want to see them from up close! I am <i>dying</i> to know why Mother is so angry with Him over it – well, not <i>really</i> dying, but you get it. Come on, it will be fun!”</p>
<p>Will it? This sounds like nothing but trouble, Michael thinks. But if Samael won’t be convinced not to go, then maybe Michael should tag along and keep him in check. This seems to be his mission, has been for a while, and he embraces it.</p>
<p>Father made people, indeed, and it has been the cause of many arguments with Mother, of shouting matches that resonated in their children’s ears as if from underwater, the words muffled and unclear. Two people, in particular, have been chosen to live in a paradise, while the rest of what is called Earth scrambles and struggles for survival in a way angels won’t ever need to. It’s in these two people that Samael’s interest lies, Michael realizes when they land inside said paradise, a small world of greens and yellows and many other vibrant colors. The Silver City is so monochromatic in comparison; maybe Father grew tired of it and went out of His way this time.</p>
<p>The people, the <i>humans</i>, are strange for the simple fact that they are wingless, a concept foreign to Michael. But aside from that, there is a resemblance, to both the male and female angels of the Host. Did Father decide wings would be inconvenient for them? Was He scared they would end up flying too close to the Sun? After all, they look fragile, but then again He also made them this way. What a bizarre experiment – like them, oddly, but this time Mother was not in on the plan.</p>
<p>“They’re beautiful,” Samael whispers from behind the tree that is their cover, once the couple comes into view. The awe in his eyes, brown just like Michael’s, is a fierce and scary thing. “Let’s go talk to them.”</p>
<p>“What?” Michael’s arm shoots to the side to stop his twin by the shoulder. “You said you wanted to see them, and we did. Let’s get back now. Hopefully Father won’t have noticed.”</p>
<p>Samael rolls his eyes, then turns to him. “Why are you so afraid of Him? If He gave these people freedom, then we, His children, can have it too. We did our duty, <i>both</i> of us.” He eyes Michael’s pitch black wings, as if making a point. “There are no orders left for Him to give us. We literally have nothing to do up there. Aren’t you bored? What’s the harm in living a little?”</p>
<p>“I'm not bored,” Michael replies. “I'm fine with things being exactly the way they are. We don’t <i>belong</i> here, Sam. Let’s go home.”</p>
<p>Angelic nostrils flare, white feathers puff up in the breeze, and pride spills from lips that should know better, but have been cursed to do the opposite.</p>
<p>“We belong wherever we decide we belong, Michael. And home is such only if it feels like it.”</p>
<p><i>Well, it does to me</i>, Michael wants to say, but instead he answers, “Fine. Dig your own grave. I'm going,” because it’s clear at this point that his brother needs a different, harsher approach. Amenadiel is older, his posture always stern, his face always serious; when he speaks, <i>occasionally</i>, Samael quiets and does as he is told.</p>
<p>Michael flies back to Heaven, leaving Samael in this other, lesser paradise. Reluctantly, hoping he won’t come to regret it, he informs Amenadiel and watches as the Firstborn departs with a troubled expression, vowing to bring Samael back before he does something stupid.</p>
<p>But when the two do come back, the damage has been done.</p>
<p><i>Samael!</i> God thunders, the ground under their feet shaking with it in the Central Square all three have been summoned to. <i>Samael, what did you do?!</i></p>
<p>Michael’s twin clenches his jaw, the purple bruise blossoming on his right cheek making Michael’s heart squeeze with terrible, overwhelming guilt.</p>
<p>“I just gave the humans what they desired,” he says, proud and defiant, and Michael feels like he’s watching a supernova reach its inevitably tragic end. Only now, he notices other details all over Samael’s body: kiss-swollen lips, robes askew, a different posture than before as if <i>something</i> just changed him, again. And despite never having experienced it, Michael knows what it is, the same way he knows how to name the many things and creatures of the world.</p>
<p><i>Oh, brother,</i> he thinks, worried.</p>
<p>In their heads, Father grows angrier.</p>
<p><i>I gave them everything already, I gave them freedom, with only one condition. But you led them – no, tempted them – to disobey me.</i> Then, His divine energy turns to Michael. <i>And you, Michael, have disappointed me, too.</i></p>
<p>Michael bows his head, ashamed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Samael frowning at the gesture.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry, Father.”</p>
<p>Samael bristles. There’s a good chance it would have ended here if he had kept his mout shut, but Michael can’t say for sure.</p>
<p>“Don’t blame him!” the Lightbringer, as Mother calls him, tells God. “It’s not his responsibility to keep me in line, and anyway, he did try his best! He has nothing to do with–”</p>
<p><i>QUIET!</i> God thunders. At the same time, the air of Heaven, which bends to the Will and the Word, squeezes around the arch of one of Samael’s wings, making him cry out. Then it <i>twists</i>, and the angel falls to his knees, eyes shutting and teeth grinding against the pain.</p>
<p>“Sam!” Michael shouts, taking one step closer, but that same force prevents him from going any further. The same goes for Amenadiel, who watches in silence, but looks concerned.</p>
<p><i>Husband,</i> Mother’s voice joins in, soft but quietly angry, too. <i>That’s enough.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>I am teaching the boys a lesson. They need to learn.</i>
</p>
<p><i>They’re young,</i> She soothes, always protective of Her children, but of Her bright rebel son most of all. <i>It was Sam's mistake as much as the humans’. It’s not his fault You made those brainless apes so naïve and gullible.</i></p>
<p><i>Not this again</i>, God grumbles. <i>Leave me now, I’ll make this quick.</i></p>
<p>Michael feels Her presence retreating. Once it’s completely gone, Father’s attention turns to Samael once more, and Michael knows instantly that Mother made the wrong choice.</p>
<p>The air, faintly shaped as a hand but not really, twists <i>both</i> wings back at an unnatural angle. Samael screams, stuck in place on his knees, and Michael’s own wings throb in agony from solidarity alone, imagining what it must feel like.</p>
<p>“Father,” Amenadiel calls, disturbed by the scene. “Father, he has learned. We–” he glances at Michael, searching for confirmation, “we will make sure of it.”</p>
<p>God listens to His Firstborn, as He mostly does. Samael falls on his chest, released from the pull of invisible fury, and curls in on himself, hiding his body with his wings. Michael is relieved to notice Father didn’t dislocate the bones: it really was just a lesson, but a painful one nonetheless. And He has been cruel before, has delivered a few occasional slaps with His hand made of nothing and everything, but never this. It leaves Michael unsettled, because Samael did disobey, but this doesn’t feel right.</p>
<p>And yet, isn’t Father always right?</p>
<p>He can feel Samael seething inside his cocoon of feathers, fists clenching on the ground where they’re slightly visible near his head. Michael and Amenadiel share a glance, having an unspoken conversation similar to many they have already had: it’s better if Michael picks up the pieces, they agree.</p>
<p>Which usually works. But not this time.</p>
<p>“Leave me!” Samael snaps when Michael goes to touch the wing nearest to him, his brother emerging from his protective shield to stand, but wincing at the movement. “Happy now? Had your chance to prove you’re the good, dutiful twin who does as he’s told?”</p>
<p>“What? No, that’s not–”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> told Amenadiel, he said as much. And then <i>he</i> told Father, which doesn’t surprise me. But <i>you</i>?” Anger and betrayal distort Samael’s features, unshed tears gleaming like the pearls they sometimes find at the bottom of the Silver City’s rivers.</p>
<p>The guilt from before multiplies at the words. He didn’t know–didn’t <i>mean</i> for things to go this way. And now that he’s been called out on it, it feels like a thread was severed between them, that trust binding them to each other and setting them apart from everyone else. They’re just siblings now, turning on each other out of pettiness.</p>
<p>“I messed up, okay?” he admits, determined to fix what he can. “I'm sorry! I just wanted to protect you!” <i>From yourself,</i> he thinks but doesn’t say.</p>
<p>“Protect me?” Samael scoffs. “Right. I bet you were hoping Father would tear my wings right off my back.”</p>
<p>Michael flinches. It’s a low blow, terribly low; when he's hurt, Samael always strikes back with a viciousness he inevitably ends up regretting, once he cools off. A viciousness Michael usually forgives, but this is a particularly sore spot – the implication behind it, that is. The underlying message: that he’s <i>jealous</i>. And fine, yes, maybe he is: what is <i>he</i> if Samael is the Lightbringer? Why doesn’t <i>he</i> ever get praised when his work came before, when it made Samael’s possible? Why can’t his twin appreciate how he always has his back, no matter his foolishness, no matter the risk of dealing with Father’s wrath?</p>
<p>But most of all, Samael never accused him of such a thing before, never made him feel like there was a wrong to right between them; on the contrary, he has always been the first to stand up for Michael against the mockery of younger, meaner siblings asking, “What happened to your wings, Michael?” despite the fact that his are obviously not the only dark feathers gliding through the Heavens. But since everyone knows he wasn’t <i>born</i> this way, they see him as flawed: surely, he could have done a better job and avoided losing the precious light Mom and Dad so generously gifted. Instead of a badge of honor, they see it as an everlasting show of failure.</p>
<p>“Don’t listen to them,” has been Samael’s mantra after sending them away with a powerful flap of much larger wings. “You’re you, and I'm me, and we both did a marvellous thing out there. Stand proud, brother. None of them could have done what we did, and they know it.”</p>
<p>So now, for Samael to imply that Michael <i>does</i> have something to be envious of, that he would stoop so low as to wish harm to his brother’s wings just to feel better about himself…</p>
<p>Though in a different way, this is betrayal, too.</p>
<p>“If this is what you think of me, brother, than yes, I'd rather leave you.”</p>
<p>“Michael.” Samael’s face crumbles. “Michael, I didn’t mean–”</p>
<p>But when Samael reaches forward, it’s Michael who jerks back and flies away, leaving him there on the ground. Samael’s wings probably hurt still, so Michael knows he can’t follow, and it’s mean and all wrong but also convenient because he wants to be <i>alone</i>. Alone, something nature didn’t make him to be. Never. Or at least that’s what he used to think.</p>
<p>They don’t talk to each other for a while, turning on their sides when they go to sleep, hiding each other’s faces with wings that speak of something gained and something lost. In time, they even found a usefulness to this difference that was forced upon them: while Samael’s wings are a dead giveaway in the night, Michael’s blend with the darkness they were imbued with – which came in handy whenever they snuck into Father’s private library (Sam's idea, of course) to read from texts and scrolls meant to be enjoyed by God alone, written by other ancient celestial beings in a language even older than the one the Host speaks.</p>
<p>It was fun to carry Samael by the back of his robe, his luminous wings tucked away, and it was good not to feel inferior to him, to be the one who gets the job done.</p>
<p>But now, the difference is a reminder. Every light casts a shadow, and the thought of being Samael’s shadow, of being nothing on his own if not an imperfect mirror image of someone better, <i>burns</i>. Because for all his recklessness, for all his defiance, Samael is loved above them all by Mother, and Father Himself, as much as He fails at showing it (spectacularly so), is still in awe of the brightest of His children, the only one who keeps Him on His non-existent toes. Michael, on the other hand, is blatantly taken for granted: there is nothing to be said to him that isn’t related to whatever Samael did or said last, no order given that isn’t connected to Samael's behavior, almost as if Michael was made to be his warden and nothing more.</p>
<p>Was he? Is this all he is, all They will ever see him as?</p>
<p>To his credit, Samael tries to apologize again for his outburst, many times. Michael doesn’t listen, and that’s on him.</p>
<p>Samael grows bitter, the humiliation of punishment too hard to swallow; and in the dark corners of a city that shouldn’t have any, but does, unrest blossoms and spreads like a quiet but deadly disease. Talks of tyranny, injustice, oppression, unfairness; talks of want and will and <i>desire</i> and it has Samael – no, <i>Lucifer</i>, because his twin suddenly decided it suits him better – written all over it.</p>
<p>Until the day comes: the day when Lucifer (oh, it sounds so wrong, it <i>is</i> wrong, one more thing not matching anymore) asks Michael to join his ranks in the upcoming battle.</p>
<p>“Fight by my side, brother,” he pleads. “We have been at odds for long enough, but we are not each other’s enemy! We don’t have to be!”</p>
<p>He’s right, they don’t have to be. And yet, they are. Michael already pledged his allegiance to Father when the call to arms came, hoping, deep down, that a physical confrontation could still be avoided. There was no saying no to his Maker, not for him, despite all his quiet resentment at the way said Maker treats him. There is no desire to rebel inside him, no spark of fire making him restless; all he wanted to do was <i>be</i>, because that is what darkness does best. Why can’t Sam–<i>Lucifer</i> do the same?</p>
<p>“Don’t do this,” he says, not giving a direct answer, but implying it. “Don’t make me do this.”</p>
<p>“I am not <i>making</i> you do anything, Michael,” Lucifer replies, because of course he doesn’t see it, how he forced everyone to take sides. Someone older, someone wiser, would see that his side is smaller and weaker and more inexperienced; but his anger is blinding and so is his pride, and this time, the dark cover of Michael’s wings won’t manage to contain it.</p>
<p>Deep down, deep down he wonders: what if he hadn’t told Amenadiel that day? Would Father still have found out? Does it matter? He feels like Lucifer’s path would have led here one way or another, regardless of his attempts at stopping it. Some stars just burn too bright.</p>
<p>They avoid each other on the battlefield while the Rebellion unfolds, as much as they possibly can. But when the last day of the War draws to a close – when it’s obvious that Lucifer is losing, yet he still refuses to surrender – Amenadiel is out of commission, recovering from a recent injury, and so Michael is the angel God calls to carry out His wishes.</p>
<p>
  <i>Force him to kneel, or throw him down.</i>
</p>
<p>Mother is silent, has been the whole time. Michael looks across the field, an expanse of green now turned to rusty red, and meets Lucifer’s gaze. His twin brother is injured, tired, bloodied, and Michael hesitates for it, but it’s so much more than that.</p>
<p>They came into the world together. The first thing he remembers of his long, long life is Lucifer’s being separating from his own to acquire his form. The first, the <i>only</i> touch he ever allowed on his wings has been Lucifer’s, to groom and straighten feathers he could not reach by himself.</p>
<p>They came into the world together, and this isn’t how it should end. But Father doesn’t feel the same way, and when He speaks again, a chill runs down Michael’s spine.</p>
<p>
  <i>Do not disappoint me again, Michael, or it will be two angels falling from the sky today.</i>
</p>
<p>And maybe it should be. The thought feels almost poetic, or it would to someone else. But as ugly as it is, self-preservation roars inside him: he doesn’t <i>deserve</i> to fall, so why should he? And regardless of whether Lucifer deserves it or not, his sentence is clear and can’t be reversed. Michael has been called to act against his nature, but the one calling breathed that same nature into existence, and the yearning to <i>please</i>, to be seen and valued for his worth, is sickening and ridiculous but no less strong because of it.</p>
<p>Maybe he does have it in him, this force called desire, but it feels more like something someone else carved into his bones instead of a choice, as it is for Lucifer.</p>
<p>How did they end up here? Where did all the time go? Was it yesterday that they pranked Uriel by insisting Michael was Lucifer and Lucifer was Michael, or was it centuries ago? Was it last week that Lucifer flew straight into a beehive and discovered that thing called honey, or has it been millennia?</p>
<p>It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s over. Michael isn’t sure who's to blame; most likely, they all are.</p>
<p>With a pained but powerful battle cry, he launches himself across the field, wings spread and sword in hand. The Sword of God, he will later be called (by humans, mind): a nickname for him too, finally, but one he will never get to take pride in.</p>
<p>Lucifer’s expression shifts from surprise to betrayal to the anger of a wounded, snarling animal forced into a corner. He raises his sword, too, and they meet like this in the sky, blade against blade, light against shadow – how ironic, that years down the line <i>Lucifer</i> will be crowned the Prince of Darkness when it’s Michael the one who tamed the endless night.</p>
<p>But Father has made a dark place, he knows, a place for guilty human souls to go, whose darkness can expand as it pleases because it’s on a different plane of existence from Heaven and Earth both. That’s where Lucifer is headed, and Michael finds comfort in the knowledge that thanks to him it won’t stay dark for much longer. Lucifer will be fine. Lucifer will bounce back from this, and Michael, too.</p>
<p>Maybe this is what distracts him, this hope deep in his chest. Be that as it may, Lucifer manages to strike first, his sword slashing right across Michael’s face, from above one eyebrow all the way to the opposite cheek.</p>
<p>Michael howls, covering his bleeding face with his free hand as he flaps his wings backwards. It <i>hurts</i>, both on the surface and somewhere deeper, and it breaks him.</p>
<p>Heedless of the blood flowing from the cut, he attacks with a growl, all reasoning forgotten. They tumble and spin and struggle in the sky, a dance less dignified and coordinated than one would expect, desperate and disgustingly wrong. But it’s too late to stop it. They are past the point of no return, both of them.</p>
<p>It ends when Michael manages a blow to Lucifer’s sword arm that makes him drop his weapon. It falls to the ground below them, and before Lucifer can chase after it to retrieve it, Michael slams into him and sends them both crashing in a heap among the grass. Out of the two, he’s the only one armed now, and when they end up standing in front of each other Michael lifts his sword and presses the tip to the middle of Lucifer’s chest.</p>
<p>“Kneel,” he says, panting, exhausted. <i>Please, you idiot, just KNEEL.</i></p>
<p>But oh, he knows Lucifer too well to actually entertain the thought as anything other than a tired, unachievable dream. The Lightbringer and his pride, a curse Father Himself indirectly cast. Does He lose sleep over it? Then again, does Father sleep at all?</p>
<p>“Make me,” Lucifer replies, because of course he does. The tip of the sword presses over his dirty tunic, making a small bead of blood appear and spread underneath and along the fabric. The thought crosses Michael’s mind: <i>Kill him. Push through. End this.</i> But this, he can’t do. He’s incredibly thankful Father did not ask it of him.</p>
<p>Instead, he slowly pushes Lucifer closer and closer to the edge, the same from which they took off together to visit that place called Eden, which now is no more. Lucifer’s wings are already torn and bloodied in places, while Michael has been able to keep his mostly intact. He knows Lucifer won’t be able to stop this fall. Even if he could, Father’s Will will probably prevent it.</p>
<p>Lucifer sways, his body halfway between the space inside the translucent dome and the one outside of it. Michael’s sword trails up from his chest, to his throat, to his chin, where it digs a cut out of sheer frustration, but also as a way to further beg. But Lucifer doesn’t kneel. All he does is hiss, jerking back slightly at the sting, looking at Michael with a challenge in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Lucifer,” he croaks, the name wrong on his tongue, but maybe it will be appreciated, maybe it will be enough. “<i>Kneel</i>.”</p>
<p>Things can still go back to the way they were. After this little show of surrender, Father will be merciful, he knows it. Michael and Lucifer will tend to each other’s wounds and grieve for the siblings they have lost and in time, it will all be forgotten. After all, they have nothing but time.</p>
<p>“You turned against me,” Lucifer accuses, Michael’s sword forcing his chin slightly upward. “You chose <i>Him</i> over <i>me</i>.”</p>
<p>He did, didn’t he? But it’s <i>Lucifer</i>’s fault that he had to choose in the first place. Does he really not see that?</p>
<p>“I am not like you,” Michael says – something he has always known, deep down, but it stings to acknowledge it so openly. Maybe it was foolish of him to think they could have stayed exactly the same. He wonders if it means Mother and Father’s experiment actually failed, in the end. “I don’t… <i>get</i> it. I was happy here, <i>we</i> were, and we can still be. <i>Please</i>.”</p>
<p><i>Michael, you know what you have to do,</i> Father reminds him. This time, he can sense God let Lucifer hear His words, too, because his face twists in anger and heartbreak and eventually, acceptance.</p>
<p>“Do it then,” Lucifer encourages, spreading his arms wide. “Go on, kill me. Fool yourself into thinking He will love you more for it.”</p>
<p>He thinks… <i>Oh</i>. He doesn’t know what was decided for him. The compromise Mother achieved to save Her precious Lightbringer from total obliteration. It’s unclear what happens to them when fatally struck by an angelic blade: is there a beyond, or simply nothing on the other side? Michael is glad his brother won’t die to find out, but Lucifer’s relief when he lowers his sword is a terrifying thing: clearly, for the briefest of moments, he thinks he’s safe, that Michael changed his mind and is rebelling, too.</p>
<p>In the next instant, after throwing the sword to the ground, Michael steps closer and grabs him by the front of his tunic, startling him. Lucifer gasps, his hands coming up to close around Michael’s wrists, confused but hopeful about what the gesture might mean. Their foreheads meet, their eyes closing as they breathe harshly through their noses. For a moment, they are one again, a single entity thrumming to the sound of two hearts beating. For a moment, all is well.</p>
<p>“Goodbye, brother,” Michael says then, as Lucifer’s eyes snap open in a sudden surge of panic. And then, Michael wrenches himself out of Lucifer’s hold and pushes him.</p>
<p>But in his frenzied, frantic desperation, Lucifer reaches out just as his body falls backwards and past the barrier. One of his hands latches on to Michael’s right wing, and gravity, together with shock, does the rest.</p>
<p>Being pulled by <i>one</i> wing only hurts in an excruciating way, his body twisting unnaturally to the side as something in his back snaps with the force of it. He cries out, trying to break free as they fall at an increasing speed, but Lucifer’s panic makes his grip as strong as iron. Black and white feathers detach from their wings and fly upwards and away, like a heavy rain beating against their faces, but upside down.</p>
<p>They both try to spread their wings and stop the descent, but <i>something</i> doesn’t let them, as if an invisible bubble is containing them. <i>Father</i>. It’s Father, even with Michael caught up in the middle, even after he did all that was asked of him, even after he sided against his rebellious twin to try and feel like he mattered, like he was more than one half of something, always bound to follow Lucifer wherever he went.</p>
<p>Even after he had his light sucked away, only to watch Lucifer make it his own.</p>
<p>And then, as if the fall itself wasn’t enough, Lucifer’s body starts to… change. It <i>burns</i>, catching fire out of nowhere in many different points as a horrific, unevenly textured redness spreads all over his skin. Brown eyes burst ablaze from within, dark hair recedes to show the baldness underneath, and neatly trimmed nails transform into sharp, black claws as his beautiful white wings basically go up in flames.</p>
<p>He was never a supernova, Michael realizes; was never meant to go out in an explosion of light. He’s a shooting star, no, an asteroid headed to its painful crash, and whatever the reason, the fall is consuming him in a blaze of anything-but-glory.</p>
<p>His screams are pure agony, impossible to match even for Michael with his clearly dislocated wing. Claws cut through its feathers even deeper now, having a better grip than soft, angelic hands, until Father seems to decide it’s enough – for Michael, that is. The bubble splits into two, almost a mockery of the way they were born, one half dragging whatever Lucifer has become down toward Earth and beyond still, the other pulling Michael up and keeping him floating in mid-air as he watches.</p>
<p>The link between them breaks, once and for all, so sudden it leaves him gasping. He'll probably never see Lucifer again, assuming he survives. He’s alone, for real this time. He can be himself without another always used for comparison, without being defined for what he’s <i>not</i>, but is it really what he wanted?</p>
<p>
  <i>That’s not necessarily a bad thing, brother. It’s good to be your own angel.</i>
</p>
<p>There is only one problem: who <i>is</i> he without Lucifer? Why does he feel incomplete, instead of whole?</p>
<p>He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the red eyes boring into his as they fell, pleading, betrayed, furious. When his wobbly flight, helped by Father’s hand, leads him back to Heaven, he collapses on the grass and weeps. His shoulder and wing are <i>killing</i> him, even more than the slash across his face, forcing him to lean his weight toward the opposite side to relieve the pressure. But these injuries will heal, so they are not the ones concerning him.</p>
<p>“What was happening to him, Father?” he asks the air. “Will he be alright?”</p>
<p>Father doesn’t answer. When all around him Michael sees his surviving siblings stand to attention, though, he realizes He is talking to them instead, giving orders to collect the dead, repair what was damaged, polish bloodied swords and put them away. God speaks, but not to Michael; there is no praise, no accusation, no grieving, no comfort. Mother doesn’t say a word, either, too busy crying over the son She lost forever. The brighter, the bright<i>est</i>; the most beautiful, no matter how similar to Michael he was, Star of the Morning and Bringer of Light.</p>
<p>And Michael understands, finally but too late, that indeed it’s how he suspected: to Them, he’s nothing but a shadow. And without the Sun producing it, without the candle casting it on the ground, one single shadow is bound to merge with all the others and blend, unrecognizable, with darkness. He will always remind Them of what is no more: he will always be a twisted copy, and yes, the proof of an experiment gone awry.</p>
<p>Instead of one half of something, he’s now something missing one half.</p>
<p>Hatred builds in the silence, together with regret. But it’s all so messy and confusing that Michael doesn’t really know who to hate more. For a time, a long time, Father wins over everyone else, having disappointed Michael by proving that all his insecurities were founded, that Lucifer might have been right.</p>
<p>
  <i>Go on, kill me. Fool yourself into thinking He will love you more for it.</i>
</p>
<p>But it’s not Father the one who wounded him, and when his injuries, inexplicably, do not heal, the phantom pain of Lucifer’s hands tugging and tearing is all Michael can think about.</p>
<p>He didn’t mean to. Consciously, Michael knows it. But it hurts, hurts every second of every <i>day</i>, and was rebelling truly necessary? Just because Father didn’t want him to interact with humans? Couldn’t Lucifer just accept that Father knows better?</p>
<p>Because He… does know better. He has to. Michael can’t stand the thought of being wrong about it, even despite his heartbreak, because this one knowledge comforts him when in doubt over his own actions. Father sees the bigger picture; Father knows of the patterns Uriel constantly updates Him on. Maybe Hell was meant to be, and the Fall as well; maybe this silent treatment, too, has a deeper meaning or reason Michael is simply too small to see.</p>
<p>Faith sustains him, but still, his body doesn’t heal. Amenadiel offers to help by pushing the joint of his right wing back into its socket; Raphael uses his powers to force the scar on his face to disappear. No matter: the next day, every time, both pains are back with increased intensity until Michael decides he’d rather stop trying, tired of hoping for something that for some reason just won’t happen.</p>
<p>Now crooked on top of unnaturally dark-winged, he becomes more of a laughing stock than he ever was before, and this time there is no one to defend him – his own fault, really. His own, and Lucifer’s, too.</p>
<p><i>Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.</i> He is all everyone talks about, even <i>now</i>, because he did survive his fall and currently rules over a kingdom of demons and damned souls, occasionally visiting Earth to mingle with the humans who become more and more by the day. Even from afar, even from <i>underground</i> or wherever it is that Hell lies, his light lingers in everyone’s hearts – mostly inspiring harsh words and curses, but still, it’s there.</p>
<p>He’s a King now, and Michael is nothing but a broken nobody, cursed to fly with a permanently torn and bent wing like a stupid bird that got stuck in a bush full of torns. Lucifer never needed him to be whole, obsessed as he was with becoming his own angel. Michael, on the other hand, never quite learned how to do it, and as a result of the Rebellion is now even <i>less</i> than what he used to be.</p>
<p>A half of a half. A quarter of the one single being they have been, even if for just a fraction of a fraction of a second at the very beginning of the universe. Smaller <i>still</i>.</p>
<p>Every now and then, Amenadiel is sent to Earth to deliver Lucifer back to Hell. Not Michael, never Michael, because his words never managed to sway his twin brother as effectively as the Firstborn’s punches. A push is nothing, really, especially considering Lucifer was already tired and wounded from battle when it happened; and once again, the Host whispers, he couldn’t even do it right without suffering permanent consequences. The story of his life, apparently.</p>
<p>Michael doesn’t mind, all in all. He has no interest in fighting Lucifer again, his feelings too conflicted. Plus he knows he wouldn’t be as effective, not in his… condition. Flying is not as it was, and he can’t imagine being able to cross the expanse of the universe again as he did at the dawn of Creation. But when at some point down the line Mother ends up in Hell, too, (an event he witnesses in silence, just like <i>She</i> did, unconcerned with how Her compromise would affect the angel tasked with it) Michael grows curious about this faraway realm, about this kingdom of darkness his light-filled twin brother made his own.</p>
<p>With a bit of convincing, Amenadiel instructs him on how to reach it, and Michael flies out of Heaven and into the depths of Hell.</p>
<p>He lands on the outskirts of a maze of corridors made of walls and columns of black stone, with a high pillar at the very center of it. Ashes fall from the sky, a different sky, with no Sun and an unmoving bank of dark clouds. Shadows slither all around him, from and into cracks and crevices, over smooth planes and jagged rocks, but Michael is not afraid of the dark. In a way, it calls to him.</p>
<p>Looking up, he sees Lucifer take off from what he now realizes is a throne carved at the very top of the high pillar. As he waits for his brother to land, Michael focuses on the sounds he can hear, on dulled screams, rattling chains, doors shaking on their hinges. Must be where human souls are held captive, and somewhere around here, Mother is also trapped.</p>
<p>Does Lucifer visit her? Michael bets he does. Surely, it must comfort him to bask in Her love and devotion, to find companionship in their shared hatred of Father, of Heaven, maybe even of him.</p>
<p>“Michael,” Lucifer addresses him as soon as his feet touch the ground. “Long time no see.”</p>
<p>Dressed in hard, scaled black leather, he’s different than how Michael remembers him. Their features never change, and yet Lucifer’s seem sharper, as if someone chiseled softness away from his face and body. He stands as proud as always, the (probably) silver crown on his head vaguely resembling flames with intricate, unknown words carved along the intertwining bands of metal. Whatever he applied around his eyes makes them black underneath, the brown inside a darker shade. And covered in ash as they are, his wings (fully restored, because of course, isn’t he always the lucky one) almost, <i>almost</i> look like Michael’s but not really, their white glow unmistakable under the grime.</p>
<p>How did he recover from those awful, horrifying burns? Maybe some ancient spell, some ancestral magic to be found only in such a Dad-forsaken place?</p>
<p>“Hello, Lucifer.” For now, it’s all he feels like saying. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here, not really. So far, it’s only confirming that the Fall, at the end of the day, had worse consequences on Michael himself, and isn’t that just great.</p>
<p>“Decided to join the party, I see,” Lucifer says with a grin. He speaks differently, too, the words coming out with a new intonation and flow – yet another flight of fancy his beloved humans must have inspired, no doubt. At this point, the distance between them is an abyss. “You’ll forgive me for the lack of seating options, but alas, Dear Old Dad apparently did not think that far ahead.”</p>
<p>His sarcasm, at least, is the same, though it has lost the spark of youth. Are they old now? Michael doesn’t even know what they are or how to determine it. They are by human standards, but when infinity lies ahead, there is no standard.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he replies, the answer lame to his own ears. Sensing what Lucifer is wondering, he adds, “I just… wanted to see the place for myself.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Something shifts in Lucifer’s gaze, something dangerously looking like disappointment. “Just dandy, isn’t it?” He spreads his arms wide as he did before the Fall, but there is no lower to fall from where they are. Physically, that is.</p>
<p>Lucifer continues, switching to outright bitterness, “So, did Father make a statue in your honor for the achievement? Named a street of the Silver City after you, gave you a nice little gold medal? Tell me, <i>Mikey</i>, was it worth it?”</p>
<p>It wasn’t. The answer couldn’t be clearer in his head. But Lucifer could, <i>should</i>, ask that same question to himself, too.</p>
<p>“Well, as you can see, you’re not the only one who lost something, <i>Sammy</i>, so I'll let you be the judge of that,” is what he comes up with, childishly using an abbreviation of Lucifer’s old name to match the one his brother addressed him with.</p>
<p>Whether Lucifer didn’t notice before, or was pretending he didn’t out of politeness, he now takes a moment to look at the state Michael is in: at the scar cutting diagonally across his face, at the left shoulder he keeps slumped, at the shredded right wing still missing fundamental flight feathers <i>to this day</i>. A complicated dance of emotions unravels over Lucifer’s face: sadness? Guilt? Regret? It’s unclear, but whatever it is, anger covers it quickly.</p>
<p>“Do you expect me to apologize for it?” he bristles, lifting his chin. The crown suits him, and that bundle of hatred and jealousy inside Michael vibrates and thrums at the quiet realization, at the acknowledgment that in a way, Lucifer came up victorious and turned it around. Which is what Michael wished for him when he was cast out, but that was before fate decided to punish <i>him</i> instead. Him, the one who always tried his best to do things right.</p>
<p>Lucifer goes on, “Do you expect me to say I'm sorry, Michael, for trying to save myself after <i>you</i> pushed me? For holding on as you watched me <i>burn</i>?”</p>
<p>Michael scoffs. What does he have to complain? He healed, at least. He can fly as he always has, he can <i>walk</i> as he always has; he can inspire respect and devotion and fear, no doubt, but not one that comes from pity or embarrassment on his behalf. He’s still a proper angel, whole and magnificent; after everything that happened, he’s <i>still</i> as Father and Mother intended for him to be.</p>
<p>And Michael almost asks him, <i>How? How did you do it? Tell me, help me, let me in on the secret so I can be healed too.</i> But for once, he decides to be the proud one and keep what is left of his dignity; as resentful as Lucifer is, he probably won’t accept to share such a knowledge with him anyway.</p>
<p>“I gave you a choice,” he says instead. He’s tired already, of this conversation and this place. “I asked you to kneel.”</p>
<p>
  <i>And I wouldn’t be like this now, if you had.</i>
</p>
<p>“Asked me?” Lucifer chuckles. “More like <i>told</i> me. An order is not a choice, and I wasn’t born to serve. Not Him, and certainly not <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>Well, then good for him, since now he rules. Maybe Father did the right thing, which means Michael did too. It’s a comfort, or it should be, but he can still taste bile at the back of his throat.</p>
<p>“I'm sure you’re enjoying your lovely kingdom, then, Your <i>Majesty</i>.”</p>
<p>Lucifer’s sneer is full of venom, and once again, Michael distantly wonders how they ended up here, two strangers in a strange, harsh land.</p>
<p>“You still don’t get it, even now.” Lucifer’s voice cracks, surprising Michael in showing the weakness underneath, raw and vulnerable. “This isn’t what I wanted. Serving is not freedom, but ruling isn’t either.”</p>
<p>True. And yet, Lucifer is still free to visit Earth, though not permanently or for as long as he pleases. Michael recognizes the magnitude of the punishment inflicted upon him, but Lucifer seems to have found a loophole, while for him there are no loopholes to find. For him, there is only pain and snickering and constant soreness, while Lucifer keeps committing the “sin” Michael was forced to condemn when Father deemed it such.</p>
<p>The memory of Father twisting his brother’s wings now acquires a different meaning for it: a warning was all Lucifer got, one he should have heeded; while Michael was carelessly allowed to fall, halfway down but enough for his wing to never recover from the pull of gravity and of an unyielding, terrified grip. Father couldn’t even be bothered to check on him, and Mother offered words that deep down still seemed to suggest he had it coming. Did She think Lucifer would fall on his own when She begged for him to be allowed to live? Didn’t She know someone would have to get their hands dirty?</p>
<p>“We don’t always get what we want,” he says, a lesson he wishes his brother had learned a long, long time ago instead of constantly striving for more, more, <i>more</i>. “I'll be on my way now. After a quick look around from overhead, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p>Lucifer schools his features and posture, regal and detached. “By all means, be my guest. Just avoid the demons if you can: making them used to <i>one</i> me was bloody hard enough already.”</p>
<p>Under the joke, Michael senses (or wishes to) an old affection, the intention to protect him from a threat, probably taking into consideration the reduced strength of his wings. He dares a smile as he gets ready to take flight, but Lucifer looks away, twisting the black ring on his middle finger that matches the one on Michael’s own hand, both sporting stones Lucifer brought back from his journey to light up the sky. They both kept them, Michael realizes, and the meaning behind it settles uncomfortably in his chest.</p>
<p>“Michael?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>Their eyes meet, and the raw anguish in Lucifer’s almost drowns him.</p>
<p>“Don’t… don’t come back here. Ever,” the King of Hell commands, though he fails at it, and it comes out more like a plea.</p>
<p>Michael scoffs. As if he was planning to. He wasn’t, was he?</p>
<p>“As you <i>desire</i>, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>Saying no more, he takes flight. Ash falls and settles on his wings, but it’s not like it makes that much of a difference; the one on his face and in his hair is certainly more annoying. Hell stretches under and around him, a twisting, breathing thing emitting sulphurous fumes from cracks in the rocks and pools of poisonous-looking water, assuming it’s water at all. The doors are everywhere, and he can even see new ones appearing here and there without a specific order or pattern, at least not apparently.</p>
<p>Just when he means to fly up and away, something tickles his senses, a force writhing in the air every time a new door comes into existence. It’s… darkness, or <i>a</i> darkness, a type of shadow he’s unfamiliar with. Curious, Michael flies down, closer to where the last door he caught a glimpse of just appeared over a smooth rock wall. And there it is, a restless mass of black vines of smoke snaking back and forth across the surface of the door to slowly slip inside the cell from all sides.</p>
<p>Dad knows what something from this world can do to a celestial, but what does Michael have to lose? Who knows, maybe it will heal him. Maybe it’s what healed Lucifer. And so he harnesses a power he hasn’t used in a lifetime, because night was night when he tamed it and that was it. Reaching out, he draws a wisp of black smoke toward and into him, letting it seep through the skin of his fingertips. He feels it pool somewhere inside of him, in his chest but strangely right behind his eyes, too. Something changes inside them, he can feel it, but he has no way of knowing how they look from outside.</p>
<p>The rest of the darkness slips away and inside the cell, as was intended. Michael doesn’t know what he expected, but a big fat load of nothing certainly wasn’t it. Disappointed, he shakes his head at himself and his foolish hopes, and finally leaves his brother’s cursed kingdom. Lucifer watches him fly into the clouds from his Infernal throne, one leg crossed over the other, white wings spread and resting at either side of his high seat. His eyes are two hard, dark stones, but they shine with something Michael knows to be tears. He crosses the barrier as fast as he can to put more distance between himself and the sight.</p>
<p>Back in the Silver City, in a room that was emptied of a bed, Michael stares at himself in the mirror before heading off to sleep. His scar mocks him as always, as does the posture he can’t help but assume to lessen the pain in his wing joint. What a parody he is, devoid of light and now of beauty, too.</p>
<p>But suddenly, just as he wishes for his injuries to heal as he does every night, something changes. His eyes turn black for a moment, harboring recently-acquired darkness, and his body transforms under his shocked, unblinking gaze. The scar disappears, his right wing snaps back into place, missing feathers grow where they should, and his back straightens and relaxes into a normal, ordinary stance.</p>
<p>Yet his joy, together with the tears in his eyes, doesn’t last long: when he touches his face, his shoulder, his wing, everything is as flawed as before. The scar is rough under his fingertips, just like the exposed skin along the lower edge of his crooked wing. In the mirror, instead, he is healed.</p>
<p>It’s an illusion, he realizes. A mind trick. The darkness he soaked up this time must have the power to fool the mind into seeing what it wants–no, what <i>he</i> wants. Could it work on others? Could he at least <i>fake</i> to be whole again? Is this the loophole he was looking for?</p>
<p>When his eyes start to burn with some kind of effort he doesn’t fully understand, he blinks, and the lie dissolves from the mirror, too. Michael misses it instantly, but it’s a comfort to know it can be conjured. Only for short periods of time, it seems; but who knows, maybe he can get better, learn how to do it for longer. Maybe Darkness, for the first time in his life, can be his friend.</p>
<p>He tries the trick on a bunch of human souls living in Heaven, asking them to describe to him what they see when they look at him. Just to avoid the humiliation of doing it in front of an angelic sibling and failing, ending up being mocked even more. But it does work, and in time, he trains himself to make the illusion last for hours at a time; a day at best, before he needs to stop and replenish his energy to try again.</p>
<p>And one night, once again alone in front of his mirror, he focuses on another wish to try and will it to appear true: for his wings to be as white and luminous as they were when he was born. But this lie, this one lie, simply cannot be, and deep down he didn’t expect any different. Darkness cannot conjure light. Not even the illusion of it, apparently.</p>
<p>This newfound gift helps, though only a little: after all, the whole Host knows it’s not real and keeps wondering what is wrong with him for not healing properly after all this time, having to resort to infernal, demonic tricks he should have left untouched. Father is silent as always, which is almost a relief at this point: what if He were to ask Michael to fly back to Hell and put the friendly darkness back?</p>
<p>But the real chance, the true opening to use his gift to the fullest, makes itself known much, much later, when a new piece of juicy gossip reaches and spreads all over the Heavens: Lucifer has decided to retire, leaving his hellish throne unattended, to permanently settle down among the humans in a city called Los Angeles (the irony). Because of course, the Lightbringer keeps doing whatever he wants, and not even temporary freedom was enough.</p>
<p>As usual, Father sends Amenadiel to Earth, but Lucifer must have gotten stronger, or maybe he had no interest in actually staying among mortals before. Fact is, time and time again Amenadiel comes back defeated, until his attempts become almost a dull routine: chats more than fights, from what he recounts, his pleas falling on deaf ears.</p>
<p>Whenever he’s sure Amenadiel isn’t planning another visit for a while, Michael starts visiting, too, but remains unseen. Literally. His illusions work in many ways: if he wishes to fully blend into the night, he can, and only he can see his own body when he looks down at himself, a bit like his sister Azrael who needs to be invisible to collect human souls when they die. He never stays for long – can’t, really – but it’s enough to observe and take in mannerisms, clothing and food and drinking preferences, speech patterns, gestures, habits.</p>
<p>He does not linger when Lucifer leads humans to his bed; meaning, his windows of opportunity are few and far between, because sex seems to be the main thing on Lucifer’s mind. It fills him with bitterness, and it shocks him to realize there was still space for more.</p>
<p>Is this what the Rebellion was about? Michael might get the principle, but not what Lucifer is doing with it. All those angelic lives lost, all that pain, the falling and the burning and their sacred bond being torn apart, leaving him hollow… all just for this? Is this worth giving up a throne for? Is this worth rejecting Heaven?</p>
<p>And then, Lucifer surprises him once more. Slowly, inexorably, without even realizing it, he falls in love. It’s so obvious it’s almost funny, if only for the fact that for all his cleverness and wit and charm, both pre-existing and acquired in Hell and on Earth, he fails to see it and keeps making an absurd, insanely convoluted mess of things with a woman that, if he’s lucky (and for once he probably isn’t, considering her dangerous line of work), he’ll get to experience for another fifty years at best, which is basically the blink of an eye.</p>
<p>The Star of the Morning, <i>Morningstar</i> now, burns and crashes and burns and crashes in a loop for this Chloe Decker, falling prey to jealousy, misunderstandings, heartbreak, fear, manipulation, rejection, lesser loves and big, terrible betrayals. For once, no matter what his heart <i>truly desires</i>, he seems unwilling or unable to just reach out and take it for himself as he did with the fire of the stars, and an apple from a tree, and a freedom that cost him, <i>them</i>, everything.</p>
<p>Michael watches in bits and pieces, of course, making sure no one in Heaven suspects of his absence. Number and number to whatever happens in and to the Silver City, not to mention Father, he doesn’t even warn his family of the danger awaiting when Mother breaks free and speaks of revenge. Luckily for him, Lucifer takes care of it, though Uriel getting caught in it all is yet another death Michael pins on him for living where he’s living in the first place, drawing frankly foolish siblings to act out. As if Father even cares.</p>
<p>Silly them, they haven’t learned the lesson Michael has: there is no pleasing God when you’re not His brightest, favorite son (it’s not Amenadiel, someone should tell him, but after all Michael does understand the power of a good lie to oneself). No matter how fallen, how monstrous, how devilish, Lucifer doesn’t face any further punishment, and even his <i>wings</i> refuse to leave his back the same way Michael’s deformities cling to his being like leeches.</p>
<p>Amenadiel, who eventually decides to stay on Earth as well, is even convinced Father made Lucifer’s Detective specifically for him, like some sort of reward or make-up gift (though Lucifer obviously doesn’t see it that way). It’s the most ridiculous thing Michael has ever heard, <i>especially</i> if it turned out to be true. A blessing? For what? For destroying their lives to go and play mortal for a few decades?</p>
<p>His wings were worth more than this. <i>He</i> should have been worth more than this.</p>
<p>So when Michael finds out that Lucifer has gone back to Hell to tame the demons who rebelled to his will (<i>Karma is a bitch</i>, humans say – fuck if they aren’t the strangest things he has ever seen), he thinks it over in his head until he decides that perhaps it’s time for a small Rebellion of his own. Would you look at that, he does have it after all, the <i>spark</i>. A mean and petty one, clearly, but he’s so tired of watching, and playing by the rules led him to nothing but ruin.</p>
<p>Just as Lucifer has grown fond of truth, Michael has been falling in love with the power of deception, with the beauty of showing what <i>he</i> wants people to see. Isn’t it still the truth, if he wills it to be? Isn’t it in his right to play with shadows, since it’s to him that they obey?</p>
<p>Isn't he, after all, a shadow himself?</p>
<p>Maybe he'll finally get what all the fuss is about, though he doubts it. Mostly, he supposes he'll have some fun. Coming up with a lie to justify his black wings will be easy: one of the things he’s learned is that his Earth-dwelling siblings seem to believe their appearance is nothing but a manifestation of their feelings. What bullshit. Why would Michael feel like he should look the way he does? He did nothing wrong. He would have fallen too, that day, if he hadn’t pushed Lucifer as Father asked. He had no choice.</p>
<p>One thing, as much as it shames him, he can admit: if things had been the other way around, Lucifer would have jumped with him instead, flipping his middle finger at God (another strange, baffling human custom he adores) and saying goodbye with all the joy he’s capable of. But then again, Michael wouldn’t have let his whims get the best of him. Michael wouldn’t have thrown it all to Hell (literally) to turn his back on his family. Michael wouldn’t have forced Lucifer into an impossible position only to cripple him, abandon him and then ask him never to come back.</p>
<p><i>Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.</i> Always Lucifer, and so Lucifer he shall become.</p>
<p>If only for a day, an hour or even a moment, maybe he will finally get to know what it feels like to shine so bright.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>